Amidst the coolest spring breezes,
Stands a man, quiet kept and contemplative
You see, he is not quite understood by his intention
Broken, battered and spiritually rent
Has he anywhere left to turn?
The bitter chill of April’s rain doesn’t promise him May Flowers
It doesn’t return the life he once thought he’d know
It gives him the icy wastelands of the winter months
The chilling finality of the dark months pierces him as if they were
The fangs of a wolf that held his throat taught

Throughout the rising crescendo of rising thunder of the midnight storm
Sits a man, drenched beneath the flora
You see, he is quite disturbed by his thought and he doesn’t know why
Raped by emotion, sodomized by logic
Has he any recourse to stand to face the truth… his truth?
This man is no coward, but can he face the only thing he know that will
Rend his immortal soul in two?
I dare think he cannot, for his soul is so raw, so pained and poisoned
By the war which rages deeply with his conscious mind
As if he were going through hell, all in a second

In the early hours of the rising sun
Lieth a man, beneath the sensual rays of first light
He is not himself, you see
Such passion for thought and reason, have left him gutted
Away the booming thunder and flash of the lightning
Whence cometh the calm after the raging storm
Yet, he lays himself on the earth, silent and still, as if he were dying
Aye, but he is dying inside
His heart fights to know the real truth
And his mind counters with the reality of his situation
Could you be such a man?
I dare not say I could be, ere I drink long and deep of his misery
What misery comes from this man, his love of one?

Aye now, in the first light, this man lies prone
Facing the daylight
Destitute, destroyed, unknowing and violated
His heart can give no more defense
His soul has been shredded
The body, broken and the mind fragmented
This man is not dying, you see
But he wishes that he was
For love breaks his soul open, and he’s afraid the one to whom he cleaves
Does not love him wholly
How can this be?
Aye but it is, this simple soul gives all that he has for the love of another
Ad Nauseam, I am sure, for what man does not contemplate this ere he rises to take his place at the head of his table?
Take a closer look into his heart, my friend
He doesn’t yearn for death, but knows he would have soon, than face his truth
Art this a cravenly thing, he has done?
Surely his lover, his mistress… his wife would come for him?
Mind you, this man lies here as if he was drunk from wine and we discuss him like poetry?
Yes we do, for his affliction so oft, is the affliction of a man that truly loves without condition

Comes now his lady in wait
To find her man in the night lain stone cold in the streets below
She does not scream, for she sees life in his body
But does she see, such a broken man lain before her very porch?
Many have bemused themselves at this very site, hoping to understand
While all the many seconds which percolate like the slow morning dew off the grasses
His soul dies like the embers of a fire
If only she knew… the key to set him free

Was to abandon the days of old…